


You've Got A Fast Car

by actualkon



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Career ending sport injury, Going on a roadtrip with a stranger on a whim to avoid thinking about your uncertain future, Homophobia, Jack Never OD'd AU, M/M, Mysterious Past Bitty, Summer Romance, Trans Bitty, Transphobia, nhl jack, roadtrip au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-10-12 09:07:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17464589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualkon/pseuds/actualkon
Summary: When Las Vegas Aces NHL star Jack Zimmermann takes a bad check, he's forced to retire suddenly. Rather than sulk, Jack finds himself agreeing to roadtrip back to Vegas with a stranger looking to start his life in Santa Monica, California.What starts as a simple cross-country roadtrip turns into a two-week long adventure, and a summer fling starts to feel like something more.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This...was gonna be my Big Bang 2018 fic but....ya know...
> 
> *~Executive dysfunction~*
> 
> After that I thought about waiting until summer 2019 to start posting because Summer AU?? And then realized...nah fuck it let people live vicariously through zimbits in the cold, harsh winter months.
> 
> UHHH please...forgive any inaccuracies here. Some of these places are made up. And idk how cars work im gay. Also Please just pretend Bitty can feasibly move to Santa Monica with realistic chances of flourishing. Also why Santa Monica? Because! why not!

_ There's a world outside every darkened door where blues won't haunt you anymore. Where the brave are free and lovers soar. Come ride with me to the distant shore _

 

_ -Life is a highway, Rascal Flatts _

 

_ ______ _

 

Boston, Massachusetts.

 

_ @LVAces: Forward Jack Zimmermann is suffering from an upper body injury. More information will be released later. _

 

_ @HockeyNewsCent: Jack Zimmermann of LVA was taken off the ice after a nasty check from Bradberry, slamming him into the boards shoulder first. _

 

_ @ESPNHockey: Las Vegas Aces lose star forward right before playoffs. Can they make it without him? _

 

_____

 

_ 6 weeks later _

 

Doctor Spring is saying...

 

He’s definitely saying  _ something _ , but Jack can’t seem to grasp the words to make sense of them. The words are heard, and they’re in the air, but they have no meaning to Jack. Nothing has meaning, nothing is understood, nothing matters. An X-Ray of his shoulder is shown, with vague gestures to what Jack would assume is his injury. All Jack can do is nod numbly along, staring at the corner of the room, where two white walls meet. A small crack runs along the side.

 

One of the coaches, Barnes, says something too, and Jack can tell it’s meant to be empathetic by the look of pity he gets. Jack doesn’t say anything back, just stares steadily ahead.

 

“So that’s it, then? I can’t play anymore?” Jack asks, cutting off whatever Doctor Spring was trying to say.

 

“You’ve had a great career, Jack,” Barnes says. “Three cups in seven years. That’s three more than some ever get.”

 

Jack just nods along, and pretends he understands.

 

_____

 

The Shaylton Hotel bar has pretty decent drinks. Not that Jack needs them to feel numb right then, but they do dull the pain in his shoulder like the painkillers back in his hotel room. The bitter taste of alcohol goes down his throat easy, like habit, like it’s where it belongs. His phone has gone off with text notifications several times; from Kent, his parents, maybe some teammates. They all say some variation of “ _ sorry, this sucks, you'll get through this, rest well, whatever _ ”

 

Another text notification comes in. Jack takes a long swig of his drink until his glass is empty, and stands up from his table, drops a 50 on the bar for the bartender, and walks away.

 

It feels like a blink in between getting to the elevator, and then up to his room. One second, he's in the lobby, and the next, he’s in his room. He looks around. There isn't much to make it feel like someone's been staying there, aside from Jack’s suitcase packed neatly by the closet. It's fine, Jack doesn't particularly feel like he exists anyway. The darkness of the room feels suffocating, though that might be anxiety setting in after a solid few hours of drinking. 

 

After a minute, Jack stumbles outside, onto the balcony, where there’s fresh air and some moonlight shining down. Jack takes one deep breath, and then another, repeat ad infinitum. It’s a crisp, cool night, cloudy, but if Jack stares at the sky long enough he can make out a few stars. If Jack looks down from his balcony, he can see a cement sidewalk, some streetlights, empty in the dead of night.

 

It’s a long way down, Jack thinks. Wouldn't that be something?

 

Jack pushes himself away from the edge, and gives one last look to the ground below, before shuffling back inside his room.

 

_____

 

Sunlight peers into Jack’s hotel room, slowly waking him up. The only thing that stops Jack from pretending his injury was a dream is the sharp pain in his shoulder that he can’t ignore. Jack isn’t sure how long he lays in bed, wallowing, but eventually his phone ringing makes him sit up slowly. The caller ID says  _ Papa _ , and the only reason Jack answers at all is because if he doesn’t, he’ll just get another from his mother in an hour.

 

«Hey, Papa.»

 

«We texted you last night. Are you alright?»

 

«Yeah, sorry, I came back from the hospital and went to sleep right away.»

 

«It’s alright. These things happen, Jack. We’re here for you through this.»

 

«I know.»

 

«Hockey isn’t the only out there for you. You’ll be okay.»

 

«Yeah, okay.»

 

They’re both silent for a moment. Bob has never been the best at reassuring Jack, or knowing what to say at the right time, but Jack knows he’s trying.

 

Finally, Jack lets out a sigh. «I have to go. Coach is calling.»

 

It’s not clear if Bob really believes it, or just finds it best to give Jack his alone time, but regardless, he doesn’t argue. «Stay safe, okay? We love you.»

 

«Love you too.»

 

Jack hangs up, and throws himself back onto the bed.

 

_ ‘Hockey isn’t the only thing out there for you.’  _ Those words should have been a comfort, so why did they feel like a life sentence?

 

_____

 

_ @LVAces: Jack Zimmermann has given his all for seven years, and we are all sad to see him leave. He is and will always be part of our Aces family  _

 

_ @HockeyNewsCent: Jack Zimmermann of the Las Vegas Aces is set for retirement after check gone wrong **WATCH CLIP** _

 

_ @ESPNHockey: Legend Jack Zimmermann retires after shoulder surgery _

 

_____

 

“You can't just stay in Boston. It's been three days.”

 

Jack doesn’t reply, even though he loves Helena, and he knows she’s right. He appreciates that she isn’t one to take the bullshit, but right now, Jack doesn’t want to hear the truth.

 

Helena sighs, taking off her glasses. “Jack, I’ve known you for seven years. Since you were eighteen I’ve been your therapist. I know this is hard, but think for a second. You’re young, you’re rich, you have time, you can do whatever the hell you want now. Travel, do something different, meet people. Nothing’s going to change this, so take control. You don't have to stay in Vegas.”

 

“I know, you’re right,” Jack says, but he doesn’t say much more.

 

_____

  
  


_ Flight 221 to Las Vegas departing 9 p.m. _

 

Jack’s reflection stares back at him, as if to say “ _ Nothing's going to change this _ .” His own voice startles him a little when he hears himself out loud.

 

Jack could throw his ticket away and walk out of the airport, and nothing would change. Jack could pay for another hotel room and stay in Boston and drink all day and night and not leave his bed and just rot and rot until there is nothing left of him, and nothing would change.

 

They’d say he was coping poorly (he is).

 

They’d say he was having a breakdown (he is).

 

Just another mess for the media to hone in on and bleed dry, let people see that Jack is gilded, and not golden.

 

His parents would let him kick and scream for a few days, then drag him back to Vegas, and he’d go to his apartment, and he’d drink, and he’d go to physical therapy, and nothing would change, except Jack wouldn’t have hockey, and what has Jack ever been without hockey?

 

The ticket feels warm in Jack’s hands from being held so tightly for so long. It’s like a lifeline, the only thing keeping Jack from spiraling into anxiety and depression on the floor. It’s stained with circles of water that dripped from Jack’s face from when he splashed it. His reflection stares back at him, unrelenting, his breathing ragged.

 

_ In, two-three-four, out, two-three-four _ .

 

He repeats it in his head, like a mantra, slowly getting his breath back.

 

A loud sob erupts from one of the stalls, and Jack realizes he hasn’t been alone. The sobbing was definitely there when he got to the restroom, only softer, but he’d been too preoccupied with his oncoming panic attack to really process it.

 

“Are you alright?” Jack asks, then mentally kicks himself for asking that out loud in a bathroom.

 

The sobbing stops. Slowly, the stall door opens, and a blond head peeks out. The guy’s eyes are big, but definitely red and tear stained, and his hair is sticking up in every direction. His voice is rough, but he definitely tries to sound more confident than he looks.

 

“Goodness, I’m sorry. I’ll be fine. It’s just been a long day, you know?”

 

Jack snorts. “Try a long month.”

 

The guy laughs a little, before they dissolve into awkward silence, just staring at each other. Then, they both burst into laughter.

 

“Lord, look at us,” the guy gets out, in between giggles, “crying and laughing in some airport bathroom together like lunatics. We’re some pair, huh?”

 

Their laughing dies off again. “Are you, uh- you sure you’re okay?” Jack asks.

 

The guy eyes Jack for a second, then thumps his head down against the bathroom stall. “No. No, I’m not okay. But I’ll figure a way out.”

 

Maybe it’s the words, or the unsure tone of his voice, or because the guy looks as miserable as Jack feels in that moment that Jack says, “Want to figure it out together?”

 

The guy struggles for a second, clearly taken aback, but he finally nods slowly. “That’d be nice, actually.”

 

_____

 

There are a two things Jack learns within three drinks. One is that Jack should call him Bitty. The second is that Bitty is roadtripping to Santa Monica. Or at least, he’s trying to. His car has broken down, and he’s tired and stressed about it because he has places to  _ be _ .

 

“Wow,” Jack says, loose from the vodka cranberry. “That really sucks.”

 

“It does.” Bitty fixes him with a glance as he takes a gulp of his own drink. “So what about you, mister ‘nothing's gonna change’? What’s your story?”

 

It dawns on Jack for the first time that this stranger doesn’t know who he is. Part of Jack had been thinking Bitty had only agreed to drinks because of  _ who _ Jack was, but now he sees Bitty merely took a stranger's kindness. “Kind of a shit day. I lost my career. My life’s like a train fallen off its track.”

 

Bitty laughs loudly, but Jack catches the hint of bitterness in his tone. “Lord, do I know what that’s like. Except my train was doomed from the start. I was never gonna _be_ what people wanted.”

 

“I’m sorry.” Jack finds that he genuinely means it. “That sounds like it was hard.”

 

Bitty shrugs, still staring at his drink. “I made a choice, and I picked myself. That’s the good thing about not having a track. Nothing to lose.”

 

A soft silence falls between them, not awkward, but easy. Jack studies Bitty, and, well, maybe it’s the alcohol, but he’s pretty cute now that he’s not a sobbing mess. Short blond hair that’s kind of sticking out messily, lean but muscular build, cheeks a little flushed from the alcohol, but a smattering of freckles very visible. It’s been a while since Jack’s let himself appreciate another guy like that. 

 

“Where are you headed?” Jack asks after a bit, gesturing to the several suitcases Bitty has been lugging around.

 

Bitty takes a long sip of his drink, studying Jack over the rim of the glass. After a bit, Bitty puts it down with a soft _ clink _ on the wood of the table. “I’m roadtripping to Santa Monica.”

 

“California?” Most of what Jack knows from California is Los Angeles, Anaheim, and San Jose, but he’s heard some of his teammates talk about vacations in Santa Monica; from what he’s heard, it’s nice, he guesses. “That’s a long way,” Jack notes. “What's in Santa Monica?”

 

Again, Bitty studies Jack, like he's making up his mind, and Jack thinks any moment he’ll hear  _ ‘I know you! You were in the Boston versus Las Vegas game a few weeks ago! You’re Jack Zimmermann!’  _ Instead, Bitty just answers “I’m moving there. Starting my life. I’d fly, but I wanna take the opportunity to see the US, you know? Have an adventure”

 

The way Bitty says it, confident and happy, Jack can't help but think about it. Starting a life, one where no one knows his name. No legacy. No expectations. No pressure. “That sounds nice. I wish I could do that.” It slips out easier than Jack wants it to, but here, a little drunk, to a total stranger in an airport who Jack doesn't think is a reporter, he finds he doesn’t entirely mind.

 

“Why don’t you?” Bitty says, like it’s the obvious answer to a perplexing problem.

 

Jack frowns, looking up from his drink. “Why don’t I what?”

 

“Come with me.” Bitty explains. “I could use a travel partner.”

 

It’s certainly not what Jack was expecting to hear. For a second, Jack thinks Bitty is going to laugh, or smile, or say that he was joking, but he just watches Jack expectantly. “Isn’t that dangerous? What if I’m a murderer? What if  _ you’re  _ a murderer?”

 

Bitty snorts. “If you were a murderer, you wouldn’t have said that,” he points out, “and you’re huge compared to me, I’m no threat. I’ll even message my friends updates on where I am. I got nothing to lose here. What about you?”

 

“I…” Jack trails off, thinking about what he had in Vegas now. There was his apartment, physical therapy, but nothing else. Nothing to stop him from packing up and leaving. It's terrifying, and freeing. Still, it’s stupidly dangerous, Jack thinks. He should say no. It’s the choice any normal person would make. “Can I think about it?” He finds himself saying instead.

 

Bitty nods again. “It’s getting late anyway. Let’s find a hotel tonight, let me know by tomorrow morning?” 

 

_____

 

It’s not until after they call an Uber, and after they checked into a hotel a couple of rooms apart, that Jack lays down on his bed and pulls out his phone for the time. 

 

_ 11:13 P.M. _

 

It’s not until Jack’s changing into his sleep clothes that he remembers his plane ticket, left on the sink of the bathroom.

 

_____

 

The realization of everything he did the night before hits the next morning, when Jack wakes up at 9:32 A.M. He’d invited a stranger to get drinks, promptly missed his flight, got a hotel room, and is seriously contemplating whether or not to go on a roadtrip with said stranger.

 

Maybe the most startling thing is how okay Jack is with the turn of events. It’s something unknown, and for once, it’s the kind of unknown that Jack  _ should _ avoid. Instead, he finds himself drawn to it.

 

First things first, Jack replies to a few more people, namely his worried parents and uncles, and pockets his phone, then goes to find Bitty.

 

Jack doesn’t even get a chance to knock at Bitty’s door, almost running smack into him as the door opens suddenly.

 

“Gosh! I’m sorry, I was just about to come get you. Come in?”

 

Jack takes a seat at the desk chair, while Bitty sits on the edge of his bed. There’s an awkward quietness before Bitty decides to bite the bullet.

 

“So, about what I said last night,” Jacks stomach drops a little, and he isn’t sure why it feels like rejection. “I was buzzed, and way too forward-”

 

“You weren’t-”

 

“You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to. I mean, we barely know each other-”

 

“I actually-”

 

“and it’s all kinds of rude of me to just jump on you like that because you seem nice and I’m nervous driving across the US by myself. It was mostly my friend Shitty’s idea to ask someone to come along. That’s her name I swear I’m not insulting her—-”

 

“ _ Bitty!” _ Finally, Bitty stops and turns to look at Jack again. “I don’t mind going with you. I missed my flight to Vegas last night anyway. You can drop me off on the way, if you still want to, that is.”

 

“You’re really okay with this?” Bitty asks.

 

Jack shrugs “I have time to kill, it sounds fun. I have nothing to lose here.” 

 

Bitty can’t help but smile at that.

 

_____

 

It all goes a little fast. After washing up in their own rooms, they make it to the airport where Bitty heads to the car rentals, and Jack tracks down an ATM. It feels too anticlimactic, though Jack isn’t sure what he expected it to be like in the first place. They meet up again, and make their way to their car that’s waiting and ready.

 

Seeing the car up close when Bitty points it out is a little surreal. Jack thinks he should feel  _ something  _ other than nervous excitement. Maybe anxiety, or fear, but there’s none to be found in him.

 

They sit in the car, separately letting it sink in. “We’re really doing this,” Bitty says into the silence, a little wonder in his voice. “We’re driving away together. I’m going to Santa Monica.”

 

“You can always change your mind,” Jack points out.

 

Bitty shakes his head, and turns the key.

 

The engine starts.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Driving in a car with a stranger is just about as awkward as Jack would think, but luckily Bitty turns on the radio pretty quickly into their drive. It's easy to watch the scenery around them and fall into his own thoughts.

 

About 30 minutes of what Jack assumes is top 20’s in the background, Bitty breaks their lack of conversation, “You can change the station if you’d like. Lord knows I love my pop songs, but I don’t wanna hog.”

 

Jack doesn’t really care what music he listens to, but Bitty  _ did  _ offer, so Jack shrugs and messes with the dial, going through several pop stations until he finds some country station playing a song he actually recognizes. It's a welcomed familiarity in a frankly stressful week, and Jack finds himself tapping his fingers against his thigh and humming under his breath pleasantly. 

 

The song finishes, and the radio host comes back on, Jack glances over at Bitty and finds him staring a little.

 

Jack shifts uncomfortably “Euh, what?”

 

“Nothing!” Bitty says, fixing his gaze back to the road “I’m sorry, I just. I didn’t take you for the country kind.” 

 

Jack frowns “I would’ve taken  _ you _ for the country kind.”

 

Bitty laughs, then puts a heavy drawl into his voice. “Is it the accent?” Then, in his normal, but still accented voice, “I tried so hard to practice it away when I moved up north, but I just couldn’t.”

 

“Why’s that?”

 

“‘Why’s that,’” Bitty mimics. “Because my accent is awful! I sound like some southern bigot.”

 

“I think it’s...different.” Jack says.

 

Bitty rolls his eyes, but there’s a slight smile on his face. “Well, bless your heart.”

 

“It's not a bad different! Just don't hear them a lot around here.” Jack adds.

 

“Well, good, you’re gonna be hearing a lot of it, I guess.” They’re quiet for a little longer, and Jack settles down in his own thoughts, before Bitty says, “You know, come to think of it, I really don’t know much about you.”

 

Jack shrugs. “There’s not much to know. I’m pretty boring.”

 

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

 

“It is. I don’t do much aside from work. I read and work out, mainly.”

 

“Well, what do you read?”

 

“History novels.”

 

Bitty nods. “I never could stay awake in a history class.”

 

They fall back into awkward silence, until Jack adds “So, uh, what do you like to do?”

 

“Oh! I bake quite a lot. I haven't had the money or time to really do it how I want.” Bitty’s face falls a little, but then perks back up. “Hey, since we don’t know each other, maybe we should play a little 20 questions. Nothing too personal, we don’t gotta answer if we don’t wanna.”

 

Jack thinks about saying ‘no’, but it seems too rude to just say to someone he's going to be in close quarters with for a while. “Uh, alright. Give me a question.”

 

“So, who’s your favorite artist?”

 

Jack thinks, then shrugs. “Like music? Johnny Cash, probably.”

 

Bitty snorts, and Jack gives a halfhearted glare at him.

 

“So who’s  _ your _ favorite artist then?”

 

“Beyoncé, one hundred percent.” Jack doesn’t bother asking who that is, sure that Bitty wouldn’t let it go, just based on the look in his eye. “Now you ask me one.”

 

“Favorite sports team?” Jack tries.

 

“I don’t really watch team sports. I like watching figure skating in the Olympics. What’s yours?

 

Vegas is too risky in case Bitty recognizes him, and Boston will bring up questions, too. “Providence Falconers, hockey.”

 

“Oh! I did hockey in high school, actually. My best friend loves it.” Jack tenses, feels anxiety welling up inside him because  _ of course _ this kid was a hockey kid. Then, Bitty adds, “I don’t pay much attention to it now, honestly.” and Jack is just stunned.

 

“You...don’t watch hockey? At all? Can you name players?”

 

“A few, I guess, from passing. Sidney Crosby, Tyler Seguin.”

 

Jack nods slowly, thanking whatever god is looking out for him. “It’s your turn.”

 

Bitty hums. “Favorite movie?”

 

“Uh...Saving Private Ryan, I guess?”

 

“Lord, my dad use to watch that movie all the time.” Jack waits for Bitty to mention his favorite movie, but he just stares ahead at the road blankly, like he's distracted.

 

“Uh,” Jack shifts uncomfortably, “what’s your favorite movie, then?”

 

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, I just spaced out for a second there.” Bitty chuckles a little awkwardly. “I’m not sure. I like a lot of teen romances. Grease?”

 

“Do these have to be favorite questions?”

 

“Nope,” Bitty says, popping the ‘p’.

 

“Okay, how’d you get into figure skating? Is that too personal?”

 

Bitty hums, then shrugs. “I guess not. I saw it in the Olympics as a kid and was hooked. I begged to try on my first pair of skates at a rink and went from there.

 

“So how’d  _ you  _ get into hockey?”

 

Jack thinks for a second. “My, uh, dad was a huge fan.” It isn't really a lie.

 

Bitty nods. “My dad was a football fan.” Again, Jack waits for Bitty to give a little detail, but doesn’t. This time, though, Jack catches a glint in his eye. Maybe hurt, or fear.

 

“Is, uh, asking where you’re from too much?”

 

Bitty hesitates “Just a tad. I’ll tell you it wasn’t Boston, though. Kind of nearby. You mentioned work, can I ask what you do?”

 

Jack shakes his head. “I travel a lot, is all I’ll say.”

 

“Oh! That must be nice. I never really got to travel much at all growing up. This is my first time really seeing different places.”

 

“I didn’t get to see a lot either. I mostly stayed around my work area and that’s it.”

 

Bitty hums “Well! This’ll be nice for both of us then, huh? We can make the most of it.”

 

Jack looks out of the window, where the buildings have become unrecognizable to him, and smiles. “Yeah, I think this’ll be good for me.”

 

_____

 

_ Providence, Rhode Island _

  
  


When Jack starts to recognize the town Bitty’s driving though, he starts wondering where they are. There’s vague buildings Jack is sure he’s seem  _ somewhere _ , but he can’t place it. At least, not until they drive past Dunkin Doughnuts Arena, and it clicks in a sinking way.

 

They’re in Providence.

 

Providence is, of course, a hockey town, with people who like and enjoy the sport of hockey. People who will likely know who Jack is even if he isn’t on the Falconers, solely because Jack hasn’t been below top 5 in points at the end of a season since his rookie year, and because of the recent buzz around his retirement.

 

Bitty doesn’t seem to notice Jack’s discomfort, or if he does, he blatantly ignores it when he turns to ask, “Mind if we stop and eat?”

 

Jack wants to say yes, that he does mind very much, and could they please just leave as soon as possible; instead what Jack says, in an effort to not come off as weird, is, “No, I don’t mind.” 

 

They take off through downtown Providence, Jack trailing behind while Bitty decides on a place to eat, going from building to building. Each time they pass groups of people, and Jack prays no one recognizes him with a hat tugged on over his head. Jack’s never been one to think about where he eats much, so long as the food has plenty of protein for energy, so he mostly just shrugs when Bitty asks his opinion of a certain place.

 

Finally, Bitty stops in front of a building with pink brick, advertising a café and bakery, a mural of a pie painted on one of the windows. It’s cute, Jack thinks. Bitty seems to share this sentiment, as he lets out a tiny gasp and makes his way inside, Jack following. The interior is just as warm and welcoming, brightly colored walls, a few tables scattered around and some booths lined up against the wall, and a friendly looking woman behind the counter at the front, with a display case full of the sweets Jack always avoided.

 

Bitty orders a ham sandwich, and Jack stares at the menu. While the shop is nice, a sandwich and bakery isn’t exactly Jacks go-to protein source. Then again, if he's just going to stick to his old habits, where’s the upside of having been injured and having to leave the NHL? He isn’t supposed to be letting hockey dictate all his choices—

 

The woman at the counter coughs, and Bitty gives Jack an expecting nudge and gesture, and Jack flushes red. “Euh, I’ll have…” Jack quickly scans the board, “the macaroni and beef plate.” Bitty lets out a quiet laugh, and the woman tilts her head.

 

“Thats a party platter.”

 

“I...right. I have a big appetite. And I can take the rest with me.”

 

Bitty’s still laughing as they take their seats. 

 

“Goodness, I’m sorry but you could’ve said ‘my mistake.’”

 

Jack rolls his eyes and mutters, “I’ll eat it all. Just to spite you.”

 

Bitty laughs louder. “Sorry, I swear. You can choose the next restaurant. I didn’t even ask if you were okay eating here.”

 

“I don't mind,” Jack says, giving the building another look. “It's nice. I was just kind of in thought.”

 

Bitty smiles softly, looking out of the window. “That’s alright. It's so lovely in here, isn’t it?”

 

“It is.”

 

“I've always wanted to own a place like this,” Bitty muses. “A cute little bakery, somewhere small that people talk about having visited on vacation, loads of pies to bake all day, a group of regulars that comes in every day.” Bitty sighs, then shakes his head and looks back at Jack. “Goodness, I’m sorry. You probably don’t wanna hear my rambling.”

 

“It's alright. I like listening.”

 

“I could tell.” Bitty gives a little nod. “Not in a bad way, mind you. You just seem like the reserved kind of boy.”

 

“Some might say boring.”

 

Bitty shakes his head. “I’ve met plenty of boys who don't shut up that are boring. I don't think you’re boring. So, what about you, Jack? Any childhood dreams you’d like to share with the class?”

 

The pain in Jacks shoulder throbs a little, mocking. “No. Nothing interesting.”

 

“Come on, there must’ve been something you always wanted as a kid. I promise I won’t make fun.”

 

Jack hesitates “It’s not embarrassing, it’s just—”

 

“Bittersweet feelings?” Bitty tries

 

Jack lets out a relieved sigh. “Yeah. That.”

 

“I get that. Sorry for pushing it.” 

 

“It’s fine.”

 

They’re saved from what would be an awkward silence by the waitress walking over and placing Bitty’s plate in front of him, and taking off again. A few seconds later, she returns carrying a much larger plate that would be put in front of Jack if weren’t for the fact that it takes up most of the table anyway.

 

Bitty bursts into laughter again.

 

______

 

“I’m a little disappointed, I wanted to see you finish the bowl.”

 

“Believe me, half was bad enough.”

______

 

_ Long Island, New York _

 

Bridgeport, Connecticut isn’t far from Boston. With stops and traffic, it’s only about 3 pm when Jack and Bitty arrive there. They’d probably  _ would  _ have ended up driving through it and ended up in a different town, only, Bitty spots the ferries going across the Long Island Sound, and his eyes light up.

 

“That would be so much fun!” Bitty says turning to Jack with an excited look. “I’ve never been to New York. Might as well make the most of this trip, right? Let’s stay there for the night.”

 

And well, it can’t really  _ hurt. _

 

…Except for his  _ stomach _ . That definitely hurts.

 

“I’m sorry.” Bitty says, for the third time that minuet, it seemed like “I really didn’t think about you getting seasick with all that food.”

 

“S’fine” Jack mumbles, praying his food stays down.

 

_____

 

An hour and a half later, they’re off the boat, and Jack managed to keep his food down.

 

_____

 

It’s around 6 when they make it to a motel on Port Jefferson, Long Island. Jack looks out of the window of their room. He’s been plenty of places in his traveling, but he’s never really stopped long enough to admire them; they’ve always been background to hockey. The sky is a lovely blue, Jack thinks, it’s beautiful in a way he’s never really thought the sky as. It’s probably exaggeration. After all, it’s just the sky. It could be a mix of feeling freedom, excitement and restlessness, but it doesn’t lessen the beauty.

 

“I am  _ beat _ ,” Bitty says, dramatically flinging himself onto the bed. “I’m so glad to be  _ somewhere _ .”

 

Jack groans in response, stretching his arms and wincing when one of them gives a ‘pop’. The stretch makes him him aware of his phone, still in his pocket where he put it this morning, still untouched. It vibrates once, as if confirming its existence.

 

“I think  I saw some restaurants around nearby for later tonight. Y’know, if you’re still hungry, at all.”

 

In protest, Jack’s stomach gurgles, though Jack isn’t sure if it’s because he’s hungry or not. “You go ahead and let me know what there is. I’m fine with anything as long as I never have to look at macaroni again.”

 

Bitty gives him a mock salute as he grabs the motel key card and his car keys. The door clicks shut, and Jack’s alone for the first time in a few hours. There’s nothing to distract him from the gravity of the situation, that he's going to have to retire from the NHL, and that he feels like he can breathe for the first time in a long time.

 

Jack stares at his phone, flicks through the contacts, and stares at the one that says ‘Papa’ for a few seconds, hovers his thumb over the call button. It goes off in his hands, the same contact image he was looking at now taking up the screen. Jack takes a breath and answers.

 

<<“Son! How’s your shoulder been?”>>

 

He rolls his shoulder a little, still achy, but the pain is duller now. <<“Sore, but okay.”>>

 

<<“I heard. It should heal after some physical therapy.”>>

 

<<“I know.”>> He tries not to snap his response, but it’s definitely edged. 

 

<<“Did you make it home alright? How was the flight?”>>

 

Someone’s laugh rings through the hallway outside the motel room, followed by a distant door clicking shut. <<“I made it fine. Flight was okay.”>>

 

<<“That’s good. I just wanted to check in.”>>

 

<<“Thanks.”>>

 

<<“I have to go. Your mother and I love you, Jack. Don’t be a stranger.”>>

 

<<“Bye. I love you both, too. I’ll try to call.”>>

 

<<“Goodbye.”>>

 

Jack hangs up, and he closes his eyes.

 

______

 

Jack doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but the turn and click of the door lock wakes him up, Bitty’s telltale accent humming under his breath. Jack sits up, rubbing at his eyes. 

 

“How long were you gone?”

 

“About half an hour. Not long.”

 

Jack grunts in response and starts digging around for his phone again. It must’ve fallen at some point during Jack’s nap, because he finds it laying on the floor.

 

There’s too many messages to go through all of them, having built up from that first night and continued on through the day. More words of condolences and assurances that Jack barely bothers with. There’s one name that sticks out, though, in an unpleasant way, as it always does.

 

Parse: Heard about your shoulder. That blows, dude.

 

Parse: Maybe when the season ends you can drop by Houston and we can hang.

 

A pair of socks go flying and hit Jack over the head, making him look up at Bitty, who’s sitting on the desk.

 

“I asked if you were hungry about six times.”

 

Jack sets the phone on the nightstand as it buzzes again with another message. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

 

Bitty looks at the phone pointedly as it buzzes a second time. “I figured. Something important?”

 

“Nothing I feel like dealing with right now.” Jack says, standing up. “Let’s go eat. I can grab something light.”

 

Bitty shrugs, and grabs his keys again “Alrighty, lets go.”

 

Jack’s phone is still on the nightstand when they get back. The messages seemed to have finally died down. For now, Jack lays down, pulls the covers on his bed up, and falls asleep .

 

_____

 

Close to midnight, Jack wakes up to a throbbing shoulder, and looks over to see Bitty missing from his own bed. His first thought is that Bittys in the bathroom, but the light isn’t on, and after checking briefly, Bitty isn’t in the bathroom at all. Jack’s second thought  _ would  _ be that Bitty took off as he slept, maybe even stole things, but after looking around for a second, Jack spots his bags right where he left them, and Bittys bags where Bitty left them.

 

Still, Bitty isn’t anywhere in the room, and the clock on the nightstand reads that it’s a little past midnight now.

 

The motel door opens, and Bitty walks in, jumping a little when he sees Jack is awake and out of bed.

 

“Sorry.” Bitty mumbles, making his way back to his own bed. “Couldn’t sleep.”

 

Jack doesn't  _ entirely _ buy it, but he knows when he’s being brushed off, and it probably isn’t his business anyway, so he rolls over, and tries to fall back asleep.

 

_____

 

The next morning, Bitty doesn’t bring up anything about the night before, and Jack doesn’t ask. For what it’s worth, Bitty doesn’t seem upset anymore, anyway. They head down to a diner across the street for breakfast

 

“You don’t have to come with me” Bitty says over their meal “but I wanted to go to the beach. Just for a little while, and then we can take off around noon again.”

 

Jack hums, pretending to think about it “Well, might as well, right? Never know when you’ll see the ocean again.”

 

Bitty shoots Jack an annoyed look. “I want to be able to say I’ve seen  _ both  _ coasts, Jack. It’s like a bucket list thing.”

 

“You’ve got me there.” 

 

_____

 

There aren't too many people at the beach when they arrive. It's fairly easy for Jack and Bitty to find a place to park and make it down to the sandy shores, a little ways away from where a group plays volleyball in the warm sand. Jack stops, listening to the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore. Jacks never seen the ocean up close like this, but it's one of those things he never really cared about experiencing before. Even on the, ferry over, Jack didn’t think much about the open water (truthfully he was too sick to really appreciate it). Now, though, Jack is almost overwhelmed at how beautiful it is, how calm and peaceful he feels just taking the salty air in.

 

Meanwhile, Bitty decides on a more hands on appreciation of the beach, and takes off his shoes, breaking into a run for the shoreline. Jack watches in amusement as Bitty sticks his feet in the water, shrieks when he realizes how cold it is, and stumbling away and back towards Jack.

 

“Bad idea?” Jack raises a brow.

 

“Bad idea.” Bitty nods solemnly. There’s so much regret on his face that Jack just bursts into laughter.

 

Clearly annoyed, Bitty rolls his eyes, and starts shoving Jack towards the shore “Haha, yes, I was very funny. It’s your turn now.” Bitty declares.

 

Jack nearly trips over his own feet, scrambling to get his shoes off before he reaches the shore. When his bare feet finally hit the water, Jack jumps back from the shock of cold water. Behind him, Bitty tries to grab the back of his shirt to steady him, though Jack isn’t able to regain his footing, and they both go barreling into the cold water. Most of Jack from the knees up is spared, but Bitty isn’t as lucky, almost totally soaked.

 

They both make it back to shore in laughter, Bitty shivering from the cold water.

 

“You alright there?” Jack asks, looking Bitty over. “You might want to take your soaked shirt off.”

 

“Im fine like this.” Bitty says, shaking the water from his hair and making Jack block with his hands. “The suns already warming me up.”

 

Without really thinking, Jack takes off his shirt and tosses it to Bitty, who yelps in surprise and barely catches it.

 

“It’s to dry off.” Jack says, raising a brow when Bitty just stares at the shirt, then at Jack.

 

“Yup. Got that.” Bitty mutters back, and starts to dry himself off with the shirt. “We should’ve brought towels. Or sunscreen. Or anything, really.”

 

“This wasn’t exactly planned thoroughly.” Jack points out.

 

“My momma said the best things in life aren’t planned.” Bitty says, face half buried in Jacks shirt.

 

Jack wants to say something back, but, well, Jack wouldn’t really know about not planning. The first thing that wasn’t planned in his life was a bad check and, well…

 

He’s saved from what would be a spiral by Bitty letting out a sudden gasp.

 

“Jack. Jack you don’t think...my mom was trying to say I was an  _ accident _ do you?”

 

Jack bursts out into laughter again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are chapters okay since the days are back to back and a lot of time doesnt pass?? Let me know if this formatting is okay!! Also hope yall enjoyed this!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my lovely Beta Gabe, and also...everyone else who I made read this because I require a lot of validation...
> 
> Also @ Gabe sorry for coming up with a total of four different versions of this AU and then crying because I couldn't do them all.


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